


Still Like the Sun

by leigh57



Category: 24
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some more h/c comment!fic from prompts over at LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Like the Sun

The _thud_ from the bathtub is muffled, a tiny vibration, but Jack bolts from the couch (book tossed on the floor) and runs down the hall. The adrenaline jolt propels him forward and accelerates his heart to the point of instant sharp discomfort. He twists the knob (grateful that she didn’t lock it) and pushes the door open. He’s out of breath, though he only took about fifteen steps.

“You okay? I heard something fall.” He stops. She’s looking up at him, puzzled, water dripping from her hair down the sides of her face. Most of her body is covered in blue-tinted bubbles. The air smells like berries.

“I’m fine.” She raises an eyebrow. “I dropped the shampoo.”

A mass of suds slips down, baring one of her shoulders, and Jack glances away so quickly that silver spots linger in the air for a second, leaving behind a tugging nausea that isn’t improved by the pulse he can feel in his head.

His face burns. “I’m sorry. I thought-” He swallows. “Forget it. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Jack?”

“Yeah?” He stops, concentrating fiercely on the shower head several feet above her.

“You’ve seen me wearing a lot less than bubbles.” He can hear the amusement floating in her voice.

 _Only once, and look what happened then_. “I know. That doesn’t mean I should-” He still can’t look at her, so he reads the print on the green-tinted bottle of amber liquid sitting on the shelf. _Revitalizing Conditioner For Fine Hair_. There’s a drawing of a plant at the bottom.

“Should what?”

“I can’t break down the door every time I hear a noise.”

“You won’t.” Water splashes the edge of the tub as she sits up to put a bottle back on the shelf. “Hey. Will you sit down and talk to me for a second?”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

He finally lets himself look at her. She’s flushed pink from the heat of the water that sends fog drifting through the room. Her eyes are warm, questioning but still mischievous, and Jack stands there, curious if this will ever stop blindsiding him.

She’s here. She didn’t die. She’s reclined in his bathtub, a burgundy washcloth covering her knees.

“Jack. Talk to me.”

Relaxing his shoulders, he walks over and leans against the wall next to the tub, sliding down until he’s sitting as close to her as the cold porcelain against his arm will allow. His heart has started to slow down, but sitting feels a lot better than standing. “I have nightmares about the sound of your body hitting the floor,” he says. Each word he gets out seems like bench-pressing twenty more pounds than you can really handle.

“I know. I have nightmares about trying to call you, or losing consciousness in the taxi and never waking up.” Renee pulls a wet arm out of the water and reaches for his hand. Her fingers are hot. He squeezes until he can feel her pulse, slower and steadier than his. The adrenaline is leaving as rapidly as it arrived; he’s shaky and tired now.

“Maybe we should both stop pretending to be asleep,” she says, and her mouth tilts up at the edges.

“I will if you will,” he manages, hoarse.

“Good.”

“You don’t want me to leave?”

“No. Unless you want to.”

“I don’t.” He closes his eyes and holds her hand (probably too tight, but she doesn’t say anything), listening to the water ripple as she breathes.


End file.
